


The Night

by Vengeful_Vulpix



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Character Study, Could be read as Maxwil, Demons, Gen, I wrote it in a friendship stance but I don't really care, Nyctophobia, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Writing Style Test
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vengeful_Vulpix/pseuds/Vengeful_Vulpix
Summary: "What do you fear in the Night? I cannot fathom what horror watches over us you, the creator, is petrified of." Wilson inquired, trying to comfort Maxwell by patting him on the back. It only seemed to put Maxwell more on edge. The Nightmare King curled in on himself, quivering. A chilling breeze flew through the Night."I didn't create her," Maxwell began to explain. His voice was small and meek. He spoke like he didn't want a third party to hear him. The tone frightened Wilson.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	The Night

The dreary, gray sunshine of The Constant had departed, leaving behind eerie, hollow darkness. The Night was a fickle mistress; some welcomed her dispassionate atmosphere with open arms. Some feared it. 

It was deep into the fall. Dewdrops were in the greenery, which got your loafers damp in the mornings, and a light yet worrying chill ran with the breeze.

Wilson shivered and slunk closer to the fire; he knew they would need a more reliable fuel source for the upcoming winter. He turned to Maxwell, who was leaning against a young birch sapling, sharpening his fingers with a makeshift nail file constructed out of a shard of moon glass. His 'hands', shiny and dark like onyx, had begun to dull from work. He didn't use the nail file often, as when he did, his hands would secrete a black slime with the same viscosity of blood.

Wilson shuddered at the memory.

It had been a simple request. Wilson had tossed Maxwell a torch and asked him to enkindle a nearby forest. For once the morning arrived, they could chop down the burnt trees for their charcoal. Maxwell looked at the torch accusingly, then back to Wilson, then to the Night. Wilson saw something in the former Shadow King's eyes he couldn't pinpoint. Maxwell crossed his long, gangly arms and scowled. Wilson mirrored the movement.

"I'm quite busy at the moment." Maxwell muttered, sniffling slightly as he went back to "work" on his claws. When Maxwell showed no more sign of movement, Wilson started angrily tapping his foot into the dusty ground. Maxwell merely flicked up his sharp, dark eyes to glance at Wilson.

At wit's end, the scientist grabbed the discarded torch by the handle and Maxwell by the ear. Before the Constant, Wilson got winded lifting a sack of produce. Now, he could lug a fully grown (albeit malnourished) man along the ground by his earlobe. Maxwell was too gobsmacked to even resist.

At the border of the firelight, Wilson transferred the torch to a bewildered Maxwell's arms and took a deep breath. Then, he hefted the former shadow king up into his arms and chucked him out the fire's radius, like a mother bird teaching its baby how to fly by throwing it from the nest.

Maxwell _shrieked _.__

__Wilson waited for the torch he had given Maxwell to ignite, yet it never did. He waited for the telltale sound of flint on wood, but he was met with only silence. As moments passed, Wilson became increasingly worried. Suddenly, a low, growling rumble came from among the darkness in stereo. Before Wilson could react to it, Maxwell had scrambled on all fours back towards the fire, shivering like a leaf. He didn't look at Wilson. He shut his eyes and tried to control his rapid breathing. The torch was missing, most likely thrown somewhere for the Night to find._ _

__Wilson stitched the pieces together._ _

__"Maxwell, are you afraid of the dark?" He asked, concerned. For all the fun he poked at the former Shadow King, he didn't enjoy the man having such a virulent experience and certainly didn't enjoy the mental breakdown surely to follow... Mostly because he would have to be the one to comfort him._ _

__Maxwell didn't respond to Wilson's question. He just wrapped his arms tightly around himself in a defensive manner. The nightmare fuel oozing out of his hands had been completely forgotten, as it was now seeping into his pinstripe suit._ _

__Wilson kneeled and gathered Maxwell up into his arms. He was always so cold. Wilson wasn't sure if it was because of his weight or that he didn't have 'normal' blood anymore. He supposed it didn't matter much. Maxwell hugged Wilson back, claws digging into the back of his sweater-vest. The murky nightmare fuel seeped into Wilson's vest like ink onto paper._ _

__"What do you fear in the Night? I cannot fathom what horror watches over us you, the creator, is petrified of." Wilson inquired, trying to comfort Maxwell by patting him on the back. It only seemed to put Maxwell more on edge. The Nightmare King curled in on himself, quivering. A chilling breeze flew through the Night._ _

__"I didn't create her," Maxwell began to explain. His voice was small and meek. He spoke like he didn't want a third party to hear him. The tone frightened Wilson._ _

__"She came with me, to the Constant."_ _

__Maxwell never talked about his past. If he hadn't known about the real world, Wilson would've thought he had always been here. He never asked about the other's life before the Constant, as Maxwell got defensive whenever he did. He had many questions._ _

__“The Night is a person?” Was the question Wilson decided upon, tilting his head a bit._ _

__“Was. Was a person,” Maxwell corrected, shivering before adding, “A demon now.”_ _

__Wilson didn't respond for a few moments. He stared at Maxwell’s melancholy face, waiting for the punchline. When he realized there wasn't one, before thinking, he asked,_ _

__“Aren’t you a demon yourself?”_ _

__Maxwell’s frightened face slowly contorted to an offended expression as he processed the question. It almost made Wilson laugh._ _

__“The Nightmare Throne may have morphed my appearance, Higgsbury, but I can assure you I am no demon.” Maxwell snapped, the poison in his tone stronger and more potent than their first argument straight out of Maxwell's reign over this land. Wilson gave Maxwell an accusatory look._ _

__“Maxwell, when was the last time you've seen yourself?” Wilson asked, voice trailing from sarcasm to genuine curiosity. Wilson didn't think himself vain, but he often got caught primping his hair or face in the echo of the ocean, which Maxwell teased him endlessly about. He's never seen Maxwell doing anything of the sort, despite being so...sure of himself. Most of the time, at least._ _

__It was concerning how long Maxwell had to think about it. Maxwell didn't even reply with an appropriate answer, he just shrugged like a shy toddler. Wilson was still speechless as he swiftly wrapped another torch together. After lighting it, he (now gently) grabbed Maxwell by the hand and led him to a small frog pond close to their base. The dawn was yet to come, but the warm light of the torch bled a soft reflection into the pond. Wilson gestured for Maxwell to look into it._ _

__How Maxwell had managed to avoid his reflection for so long was beyond Wilson's comprehension. The scientist merely watched as Maxwell identified piece by piece what made him look… not human anymore. Maxwell reached a shaky, taloned hand up to his eyes, which had become a dusky black color in their entirety. The only definitive way to tell where he was looking were the small white pin-points that served as pupils. He had been wondering why his field of view had narrowed so much. The world had been blurry since he had lost his glasses. That felt like millennia ago. Now, he had to follow behind Wilson closely lest he get lost._ _

__As Maxwell examined his face, his mouth fell ajar. He knew about his sharp, shark-like teeth. How could he not? He had punctured his own lips so many times he had lost count. It was just like how he knew about his talons. His face had thinned from malnutrition, giving him the appearance of a man far older than he was. He believed he didn't even have human blood anymore. His face was an unearthly white, the splashes of color on his cheeks and ears only being a muted gray. The dark circles under his eyes and his lips were a light purple, like someone had strangled the life out of him. It would explain why his hands always bled a black ooze. The Nightmare Throne had changed him. He just didn't think he would be unrecognizable._ _

__He didn't realize he was shaking until he felt Wilson's steady hand on his back. In response, he turned to the smaller man. Wilson held pity in his eyes. Maxwell rested his hands on the edge of the pond to steady himself._ _

__"How long have I been like this?" Maxwell asked, weakly. He seemed to pale even more when Wilson looked into the pond with him. He realized dimly they were running out of time before morning, when the frogs would ruin the stillness. Maxwell didn't feel much like moving, though._ _

__"As long as I've known you." Wilson responded, honestly. Sure, the former king's condition had worsened over time and continued to do so, but the main features Maxwell had just noticed had been present since Wilson woke up in the Constant for the first time. Maxwell didn't reply further. He nodded once, solemnly._ _

__As it always did, the morning finally arrived. The light slowly crept along the land, and although the sun was quite dull in this world, the survivor's breathed a sigh of relief. It meant Her presence was gone, even if it was only for a short time._ _

__The sun's appearance seemed to snap Maxwell out of a trance. He took the torch out of Wilson's hands and dipped the flame into the water, extinguishing it. He stood up from his knees and grabbed Wilson by the arm, bringing the other man to his feet with visible difficulty. Furthermore, he brushed Wilson off with his taloned hand, taking care not to get a claw caught in the wool of Wilson's vest. The wounds caused by the nail file seemed to have closed up, leaving small soft spots on the rigid talons._ _

__"It is a new day, Higgsbury. Let's go." Maxwell then began a stroll back to camp like he wasn't almost crying but a few moments before. As Wilson watched Maxwell walk away, in his exhaustion-muddled mind he forgot Maxwell never needed to sleep._ _


End file.
